


Cinderanders

by jullikesmagpies, mesitka



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cinderella Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, M/M, absolute and utter crack, anders is cinderella, contains magical fairy kitty, hints of anders/fenris/hawke at the end, tongues battling for dominance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 05:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jullikesmagpies/pseuds/jullikesmagpies, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mesitka/pseuds/mesitka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is trapped in the Kirkwall Circle, longing for a way out. His good friend Bethany Hawke summons a cat for him, to cheer him up. No one expected the glitter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinderanders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [castiels_feather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiels_feather/gifts).



> This is a collaboration of love between Niam, Meši, me and Bell. A Christmas gift for our dearest Maryboo, whom we dragged into the DA fandom (not entirely kicking and screaming). Handers became her first OTP, so we knew a crackfic of doom was going to be the perfect present. It was all Niam's idea, who came up with the concept and drew an absolutely spiffing cover, Meši and I joined her in plotting and outlining the story, I wrote it up until the last fifth, after which Meši took the wheel and finished it. Some general editing was done by Meši and me and Bell printed, bound and gift-wrapped the finished piece.

_ Once upon a time, there lived a mage girl with a kind heart. She lived in a tower, where mages were kept apart from other people, because people feared mages and what they could do. But this girl was the kindest soul you could meet. In the tower she had a friend, who was very unhappy. This friend of hers had tried to escape the tower several times, but had had no success, and had only gotten punished by their guardians for his insolence. One day, after one such attempt at escape, our kind-hearted girl decided to try and make her friend’s life a bit easier, and conjure him up a companion. This is where our story begins… _

 

Bethany Hawke closed the door of her tiny shared bedroom and hoped she hadn’t been too suspicious. The book she carried would get her into so much trouble if anyone caught her with it, but the risk was worth it. 

She’d been watching Anders get more and more depressed for the last two weeks, his usual snark and humour all but gone. Anders had come into the Kirkwall Circle at around the same time she had, and since both of them used to live in Ferelden, they had become fast friends. He reminded Bethany of her father, with his jokes and his kindness. Bethany had grown used to the Circle, but Anders truly hated it. She didn’t particularly like it either, but for Anders it seemed to be close to torture. She knew he had attempted an escape at least once, but an island so far removed from the rest of the city was difficult to escape from, especially when the Templars had complete control of the ships and boats in the Circle’s possession. 

So Bethany had decided to try something else: Anders liked cats. Talking about cats and seeing cats always cheered him up. One evening, Bethany had encountered a summoning spell in a library book. It was one of the books deemed dangerous, but useful enough to keep around. Unfortunately, the book was restricted to library-use only. Carrying it in her satchel now, she had effectively stolen it. 

She knew she had until the next day to return the book, when the librarian made her regular check-up of the dangerous books.

Bethany hoped her plan would work. She had gathered the ingredients she needed over the last two days and now all that was left was to attempt the ritual.

She locked the door, lit the candles, drew the summoning rune pattern on the floor with a stray piece of chalk she had found, and placed the ingredients on each point of the rune: a colourful piece of string, a paralyzed but otherwise unharmed mouse, and royal elfroot she had scraped her knees for. 

She put the book down and started chanting, as quietly as she could. To her delight, the rune started glowing, she could feel the veil thinning as the air hummed around her. As she reached the end of the incantation, there was a bright flash. Bethany glanced at her room’s door, fearing that the Templars would come bursting in any moment now. No one came. She turned back and heaved a happy sigh. The ritual had succeeded: she had summoned a cat.

“Meowr. “ The cat wound around her legs, arching its back.

“Oh but you are  _ beautiful! _ ” Bethany whispered. She scratched the cat behind its ears. When she took her hand away, she noticed a slight shine on her fingers: glimmering dust had settled on them. She looked at the cat and noticed it shimmered in the candlelight.

“Huh. That’s odd… Why do you sparkle, kitty?”

“That’s because I am a magical fairy cat!” proclaimed the cat. 

Bethany yelped in surprise and fell down on her behind. 

“Ow! How are...what ARE you? Are you a demon? I-”

“Not a demon. Just a magical fairy cat. Meowr. Fishes?” The cat purred and rubbed against her legs again. Bethany didn’t feel the malevolence she remembered from demons, and the cat wasn’t trying to seduce her or persuade her into unfair deals, it only wanted food. She decided to go along with her plan.

“Well. I don’t have any fish, kitty. But I know a nice man who does! I wanted to give you to him, he is very fond of cats, see, and he has been very unhappy lately, but I’m sure once he sees you, that will greatly improve! And he will give you fish, and other lovely things to munch on!”

“Take me to him then, if he has fishes,” the cat ordered and started licking its paws.

Bethany cleared out the chalk drawing and the ingredients. She placed the book in her satchel, hoping she’d manage to return the book to the library before dinner was done. She picked up the cat and wrapped her cloak around both of them, hoping it masked the cat well enough.

 

♥

 

Anders sat in his solitary room and sighed at the ceiling. Knight Commander Meredith had worked him to death during the day, making him scrub the floors of the latrines with the smallest brush she could find, no magic involved. A punishment for speaking out against her again. His Templar guardian was ordered to use Silence and disable Anders’ magic to ensure he used none. By the end of it all he’d been so tired he’d just fallen down on his bed and slept through dinner. Now his stomach started to complain about that. 

“Yes, yes, would you mind shutting up?” he growled at his belly as it rumbled again. As he turned to curl up on his bed, he heard a hiss at his door.

“Psst! Anders!” 

Nails scratched lightly against his door, followed by… was that a meow?

Anders jumped to his feet and opened the door to find sweet young Bethany Hawke at his door, wrapped in a cloak like it wasn’t Midsummer Eve. The front of her coat was moving, and before he could say anything, a ginger cat’s head peeked out from the cloth. Anders stepped back in surprise.

“Bethany! What-”

“Anders, look, I found a cat! You have your own room, I thought it’d be best if you kept it. Here,” she said and handed the cat to him. 

The cat wiggled out of his arms and jumped to the floor, looking around the room curiously.

Anders was moved, tears prickling at his eyes. 

“I...Bethany. I don’t know how to thank you!”

She smiled and stroked his cheek. 

“Just feed it some fish, if you can.” 

Anders hugged her, muttering a thank you into her hair. A cat! 

Bethany patted his back and turned to leave. Just as she was about to close the door, she turned back.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Don’t get frightened, but it can speak. It's not possessed, don't worry! Good night!” 

She grinned at him and closed the door behind her swiftly.

“What?”

“Fish?” 

Anders whirled around to look at the cat in alarm. It jumped up on his bed, from there up on the windowsill, and turned to him.

“You have fishes, human?”

“Andraste’s holy knickers!” Anders breathed.

“If you give me fish, I will fulfill a wish,” the cat said, licking its paw.

Anders looked around the room. 

“I, uuuh… I don’t have fish? But… May...may I?” He extended his hand tentatively towards the cat. It looked up, sniffed his fingers, rubbed its face against them, leaving a glimmering trail. Anders’ heart swelled. The cat soon grew bored and jumped up on the window.

“Well, you sure pounce a lot.” Anders commented.

“Mmm. It’s my name. Fishes?” 

“Your name? You have...well it is a perfect name to be sure.”

Anders scratched Pounce-a-lot behind his ears. The cat leaned into his touch with a purr, its head ending very near the potted elfroot plant on his windowsill. Suddenly it jumped into the pot and started batting at the plant, making tiny mewling noises.

“What? What are you..?” Anders tried asking, but the cat ignored him. He rubbed his whiskers against the plant’s leaves and made to chew on them, but only let them run through his mouth. Confused but curious, Anders tore out a stalk of leaves and watched as the cat followed it down onto his bed. He lay on his back, his pupils huge and dilated, batting at the plant in Anders’ hand, all the while making mewling noises that sounded suspiciously like “fiiiiiisheeeees”.

Anders was enchanted. He had completely forgotten that elfroot had a very special effect on some cats. After ten minutes of playing with the cat, he put the stalk away, worried too much of the plant might hurt the little fellow. The cat kept purring and tossing on his bed, uttering here and there the word “fishes” in complete bliss.

Some time passed while Anders stroked the cat’s head lovingly, his misery almost forgotten. Pounce-a-lot seemed to be getting a hold of himself with each passing moment and indeed after a while, he sat up and started licking his paws again.

“Thank you, human, for the wonderful fishes. Now I shall fulfill one wish of yours.”

Anders stared at the cat.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Unable to think of anything other than  _ stay with me _ and  _ I want to leave,  _ Anders thought for a while _.  _ He must have said those things out loud at some point, for the cat said:

“I shall stay, if you provide fishes. You are a kind human. I like your fishes. You give good ear-scratches. I can even help you leave, but only temporarily. My magic only lasts a few hours, then I am tired and need to sleep.”

“Honestly if I can just get out for one night without the Templars breathing down my neck, it would be wonderful.” Anders said. He was so tired of Meredith and her tyranny. He just needed an evening away.

“Very well,” said the cat. “I know of a party with masks happening in town tonight. I can take you there and conjure a good mask for you. It will last for six hours from the moment of conjuring, so you will need to be back here with enough time before it fades.” 

Anders nodded eagerly.

“How will we get there?”

Pounce-a-lot hopped off the bed and headed to the wall furthest from them, throwing a “follow me” in Anders’ direction.

 

Ser Pounce-a-lot, as Anders had started calling him in his head, apparently decided to lead Anders through tunnels. The very first led straight through the wall of his room. Anders was positive there hadn’t been a tunnel before and he had the sneaky suspicion it wouldn’t be there again in the morning. The cat truly was magical. As they walked, Anders contemplated about the shining aura around the cat, much like a barrier spell, but it seemed like Pounce-a-lot was not making it consciously. However, rather than keeping him out as he would have expected of a barrier, it enveloped him too.

They went through many dark passages before emerging in what Anders recognized to be Darktown. He expected to get attacked on sight, and indeed there were many who tried, but Pounce-a-lot’s barrier struck every one back, leaving them dazed and their clothing in suspiciously brighter colours.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the pair made it out into the considerably fresher air of Lowtown. 

The cat sat down and started cleaning himself again.

“Well, now we should-” but he was interrupted by a trio of bickering women turning the corner. Anders’ heart leapt into his chest as he recognized the city guard’s uniform on one of them, as well as a captain’s insignia on her pauldrons. He was about to run back into the tunnel when he noticed the elf accompanying the guard held a staff concealed as a walking stick. It was a rather poor disguise, but it seemed the captain wasn’t taking the mage anywhere against her will. They weren’t even headed in the direction of the harbour.

The third woman, tall and...rather familiar, now he came to think about it, slung an arm around the captain’s shoulders.

“Aveline, you’re just not thinking big enough. You should lose that armour and try a...actually no. I think if he saw you in a dress he’d run the other way.”

“I did not ask you, wench. Stop meddling in my affairs or so help me!”

“Ah, perfect,” Ser Pounce-a-lot said, leaping over to the women. He rubbed his back against the captain, then on the tall one’s legs, and the women were each enveloped in a swirling rainbow haze, which quickly grew to form one single glittering hurricane. When it disappeared, two enormous horses stood where the women had been. One was sleek, black as night, the other was a pale reddish colour with light spots all over it, a proud warhorse. They looked magnificent. They also looked ridiculous in the cramped Lowtown Alley. Considering how they were neighing at each other, Anders wondered how every local Templar wasn't alerted to this debacle.

“Aveline? Isa...Isabela? Oh no! Oh dear! Oh Creators, what will I do? Oh no please, girls, don’t fight! Ah, not so loud, will you keep it down? Please? You know there are Templars and...Isabela no!”

The little elf apostate was panicking, and Anders couldn’t blame her. As much as he liked the cat, how was this supposed to help anything? But the cat was already rubbing itself on the girl’s legs, enveloping her in a rainbow swirl of her own.

“Oh hello spirit, now’s not a good tiiii….i.....is there a carriage nearby?”

The swirl around the elf had been much smaller, and her shape had remained her own, but her clothing had changed. She wore a horrendous white wig with a triangle-shaped hat, she even got a mole below her eye Anders was sure had not been there before, and she wore a periwinkle blue coat with gilded embroidery. Her legs were covered in a white smooth fabric with trousers ending at her knees, her shoes had buckles on them, and she was searching the little alley, asking for a carriage, of all things.

She noticed Anders gaping at her and smiled like she’d known him all her life.

“Oh hello kind fish person! I’ll be your coachman this evening. If only I could find a coach! Have you seen one, anywhere? By any chance?”

Anders gaped at her, then at the cat, that was approaching him smugly.

“What...how...why?” was the question he settled on.

“The tingly mage is right, we have to find a carriage.” Ser Pounce-a-lot stated. He sat and looked intently around the street, twitching his ears. The horses, in the meanwhile, had resorted to something between biting and kicking. The little elf girl ran towards them, trying to pacify them, leaving a small trail of dust behind her. 

‘Powdered wig,’ Anders thought. ‘What have I gotten myself into?’

But the cat was suddenly pouncing again, and called triumphantly from where it had found...a broken crate. 

Anders followed him to it.

“A crate. With what seems to be… ah yes, that is a pair of torn trousers. Ser Pounce-a-lot, I appreciate your help in getting me out of the circle if only for a night, really, I do. But  _ what is all this?” _

The cat looked at him, unimpressed, and meowed. 

The crate was, in turn enveloped in a swirling rainbow mini-blizzard that grew to five times its original size. When it dissipated, a beautiful carriage stood in its place. Stuck impossibly between two buildings .

“Oh it’s a carriage!” the powdered elf cheered, clapping her hands.

“I...you...really can’t think ahead much, can you?” Anders rubbed his hands over his face.

“Here, Isabella, please, come and help me. We need to get this carriage down to the street. Oh, nice to meet you by the way,” the elf stopped in front of Anders, covering him in a fine layer of scented powder.

“My name is Merrill of clan….” she lost her cheer for a wink, but smiled again, and the smile seemed sad to Anders. “My name is Merrill. I’ll be driving you to Hawke’s party!”

“To what? I’m sorry?” Anders started to wonder if maybe he was dreaming. Then again, this certainly couldn’t be the fade. He could feel the veil’s thick blanket. 

“That’s where the cat spirit said you were going! Hawke is throwing a party you see, a masquerade! I think you’ll like it, Leandra’s making those delicious garlic snacks of hers. Oh, Aveline, no!” 

Merrill ran to pacify the horses again.

Anders was about to go after her when he felt the cat rubbing at his shins.

“So, human, what shall we change you into? It is a masquerade,” Pounce-a-lot said, purring softly.

Anders decided to just give up and go along with it. 

“Well I was thinking maybe feathers would look nice,” he said, shaking his head. “And a green coat. Maybe some gold detailing? And a twirly mask.”

He decided then and there that right after his return he’d make some alchemic tests on the potted elfroot plant. 

The cat meowed a “Very well,” and made three circles around Anders’ feet.

This time it was Anders who was shrouded in a rainbow shimmer. He emerged from it clad in a magnificent half-robe in dark greens and golds, with an impressive plumage of sleek black feathers covering his shoulders like pauldrons. As Anders moved, he felt pressure around his eyes and realised the mask had appeared. Thankfully, no wig. 

Anders turned to find the carriage waiting for him where it should have been in the first place, on the street, the warhorse and the black mare in front of it, Merrill the elven powdered apostate sitting on the driver’s seat and waving to him amiably. The black mare kicked the ginger warhorse and neighed in what Anders thought was a strangely snarky manner. The warhorse tried to bite its neighbour.

“Now, human, as of now you have several hours to enjoy the night,” the cat said.

“This carriage will take you to the Champion’s masquerade, the elven girl knows the way. If you want her to take you back as well, be back before the spell wears off. You will know it is starting to go when your feathers start to fall.” Pounce-a-lot meowed a farewell and leaped off, possibly to chase mice. Anders hoped he would see him again.

Merrill waved at him cheerfully. “Well, then, come on! Hawke’s party is waiting only for you! Well, not waiting, probably. Isabela, stop it! By the Dread Wolf, Aveline, please! Girls! Don’t fight, we have to- Oh creators!”

Anders was a bit doubtful of the carriage’s safety, but he had no better option so he got on.

 

Several near-death incidents later, the carriage arrived, in one piece no less, to a Hightown courtyard. Anders got out, his knees a little shaky, and thanked the elven girl in what he hoped was a cheerful tone. She had tried her best, bless her soul, but apparently Ser Pounce-a-lot didn’t quite know enough about coach-steering to be able to magically give that knowledge to his vict- subjects. The horses hadn’t made her task any easier, either. 

“Go on in!” Merrill said, pointing to a door that was slightly ajar, the sounds of merriment and a warm light spilling out. 

He took a deep breath, made sure his mask was on, and strode towards the door. It opened upon his third knock, a friendly dwarven servant ushering him in. He inquired after his name, “to know what to announce to the company messere”.

“Oh, no, no announcements needed, thank you!” Anders said in haste.

The dwarf nodded politely and showed him in. Anders thought it a little strange to see a dwarf as someone’s servant, from what he’d seen, dwarves preferred their own company. Was the Champion of Kirkwall also a dwarf? No, no, he was sure it was a human. Unable to silence his curiosity, he asked.

“I’m sorry, my friend, but I’ve never seen any other dwarf serving a human lord. May I ask...”

“You’re quite right, messere, I must be the only one here in Kirkwall! But messere Hawke was very kind to me and my boy Sandal, very kind indeed! This was the only way I could think of to repay him, so here we are! And quite glad for it, I am! Messere Hawke is a wonderful employer, and his lady mother is simply delightful! Ah, and there she is, serving her famous hors d'oeuvres! Go on and enjoy your evening messere! If there is  _ anything _ I can do for you, just call on me!”

Anders was greeted with a grandiose sight. The room was half-full of people of all shapes and sizes, dwarves and elves and humans not quite mingling. Everyone wore masks, some beautiful, some ridiculous. A dwarf with the most glorious chest hair Anders had ever seen was holding court in one corner of the room, men and women alike swooning with admiration as he read aloud from a book. Next to him, a handsome man with barely a strip of cloth across his eyes grinned devilishly. His eyes scanned the room and met Anders’, who felt his stomach do a flip. He turned quickly, afraid to hold the man’s gaze too long. The intensity of it had been like a firestorm.

A middle-aged woman, very graceful and elegant, was manning a table full of snacks and drinks by the side of the room. Anders’ stomach rumbled, reminding him of his missed dinner, so he made a beeline for the table. 

The dwarf had been right, the woman serving him all sorts of canapeés and hors d'oeuvres was delightful. She asked polite questions and answered with very merry stories of her own. “But what about you my dear? I don’t remember seeing you around Hightown before!” She asked as she handed him yet another plate of utterly delicious food. 

“In fact, you never said your name! Mine is Leandra Hawke, formerly Amell,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes, but also a little bit of sadness, Anders couldn’t help but notice.

“And may I have yours?”

Anders nearly dropped all the delicious food. He panicked, knowing he couldn’t just say  _ Anders  _ and hope no one would make the connection. He couldn't be too careful with how Meredith hated mages.

However, the only thing that came to mind was the curious cat spirit.

“I...P...Dance-a-lot. I’m...baron Dance-a-lot. Of the Anderfels.” he stuttered, hoping it would be enough of an explanation as to why she’d never seen him before.

“I am...uh...here visiting, and heard of this uh, soireé? Yes. And. Well. I do my name justice you see! I love dancing. Yes.”

Leandra looked surprised. Although maybe a little too merry around the eyes. 

“Oh, Baron Dance-a-lot! What a peculiar name. Perhaps you could take my son for a spin around the room? He is a bit hard on his feet and could use some lessons from and expert!”

Yep, that was definitely too much merriment around her eyes. 

“Ah, speak of the devil,” she said. “Garrett darling! Come, I  _ must _ introduce you to baron Dance-a-lot!”

Anders turned, plate of food still clutched protectively in his arms, to see the hulk of a man with intense eyes making his way towards them. Anders nearly choked on the mouthful he had been chewing. Up close the man was stunning. He was clad in the strangest and most handsome armour Anders had seen, a seemingly random combination of cloth, metal and leathers that showcased the man’s muscular body beautifully. Anders wondered at the practicality of it, though. The man sported a streak of something suspiciously resembling blood across his cheeks and nose. He also seemed to have bloodstains on his...whole person, as it were. The strip of cloth he wore around his eyes should have made him look ridiculous, but it only highlighted the sharpest set of cheekbones Anders had ever seen.

“Here, my dear, let me hold that for you, it will wait for you, not to worry. Garrett, meet the delightful baron Dance-a-lot! He’s from the Anderfels! Baron, this is my eldest son, Garrett Hawke.”

Anders barely registered the plate being taken away from him. He remembered to stand straight, shoulders down, head up.

“Baron Dance-a-lot? That’s an interesting name.” Garrett Hawke said, the same twinkle in his eyes as his mother had. But his eyes were a golden brown, warm and friendly. Anders was reminded of something, but he couldn’t place it at the moment. 

He remembered to speak, at some point.

“Yes. Uh. Well, we do like our descriptive names in the Anderfels, you see. My family, we’re tremendous dancers! You lose your breath just by watching us! Or...well... at least that’s the family legend, ha ha,” he added, forgetting he wasn’t actually all that good at dancing.

“Well, I’m sure if you lack your advertised dancing skills, you make up for it in impressive plumage,” Garrett said, grinning, and fingering one of the feathers.

“Ah, yes, you’ve seen through me. The more feathers, the less dancing skills. I am a disgrace and my family will dishonour me!” Anders threw his hands in the air dramatically, forgetting his jitters.

Garrett laughed, a deep, velvet laugh that warmed Anders down to the bones.

“I think we shall have to see about that. Come, dance with me!” he said and caught Anders’ hand, dragging him towards the center of the room.

Hours passed unnoticed as Anders enjoyed himself. Conversation with Hawke was surprisingly easy. They did try dancing, but neither Hawke nor Anders turned out too spectacular at it, especially because they kept stopping to laugh and exclaim at various intervals. After the fourth time they slammed into another couple, they decided to admit defeat, get drinks and go talk in a more private corner.

The thought of being secluded with Hawke thrilled Anders. He felt a slight electric charge whenever their skin touched (and if he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought Hawke was a mage himself). But he could notice his silly stomach doing flips, decidedly not from hunger, and the need to be closer to Hawke. 

He knew he shouldn’t indulge in this, so he kept holding back a bit through most of their conversation. You’ll never see him again, he reasoned with himself. You’ll be gone in a few hours, so no funny business, he told himself, and whenever he thought of it, he got a little sad. Hawke must have picked up on it, because he managed to cheer him up every time he felt that twinge, as if on cue. Yet Anders allowed himself small things. A touch here, a smile there. After all, he figured, this IS my night! I shall enjoy it.

A bottle of delicious wine later, Anders felt happily buzzed and bold. They had just been talking about the ridiculousness of the masks, despite Hawke admitting it had been his own idea on which he had insisted. So Hawke tore the strip of cloth off his face, and Anders had to catch his breath. Hawke was  _ beautiful.  _

“It’s your turn now,” Hawke said, eyeing Anders in a way that made Anders blush. Or maybe it was the wine muddling his brain.

Anders decided it must have been it, because he was actually halfway to taking off his mask, when he remembered it wasn’t the safest thing he could do.

He looked at Hawke sideways and plastered a grin that he hoped was sultry on his face.

“You know what, I changed my mind. I’ll keep the mask on, I quite like it.” 

Hawke emitted a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan, sending shivers down Anders’ spine. In a flash of movement, Hawke pulled Anders to him, one hand on his waist, the other at the nape of his neck, dangerously close to the ties of Anders’ mask.

“You’re infuriating,” Hawke murmured. Anders’ brain shut itself off completely. All he could do was stare at Hawke’s lips, his eyes drawn to them as if by magic. 

Anders should have been worried about Hawke removing his mask, but it didn’t even occur to him, he was so transfixed. He felt Hawke’s hand moving towards his face, however, and cupping his cheek, gently pulling Anders down towards him. 

The moment their lips met, Anders forgot everything. Hawke was warm and strong and tingly, like an electric storm beneath his lips. His beard and moustache tickled gently. Hawke’s right hand stayed on Anders’ cheek, but the left one stroke his back in slow circles. When Anders remembered he himself had hands, he grabbed Hawke’s hair immediately, angling his head up towards him and making Hawke moan a little. Emboldened, he nipped Hawke’s lower lip lightly, sucking on it gently afterwards. That seemed to be the last drop for Hawke. He growled appreciatively, pushing Anders back until his back met a wall. Hawke pulled himself flush against Anders, legs on either side of his, and kissed him with a new intensity. He licked at Anders’ lips, asking for permission, which Anders gladly granted. Their tongues clashed, battling for dominance. Hawke’s hands began to roam, sending shivers down Anders’ spine. Anders wanted to return the favour, but he quickly found out keeping his hands either around Hawke’s head or below his chest was safer. Hawke’s armour had spikes. Sharp spikes. Anyways, Hawke seemed to appreciate Anders’ clenched fists in his hair and Anders appreciated his hands without wounds from strange spiky armour.

Anders lost all sense of time, but he was reminded of it in the worst possible manner. Hawke was just getting busy biting on his neck, one knee between Anders’ own, one hand busy undoing the buttons on his overcoat, Anders’ own hands grasping Hawke’s hair and butt, respectively, when Anders, for some reason, opened his eyes.

The path they took from their previous sitting place to their current position glittered with several black feathers. Anders turned his head with dawning horror and saw the ground at their feet littered with even more feathers. 

Anders made a terrified little sound and pushed Hawke away. Reaching up, to his surprise felt the mask still intact and in place. Small blessings, Hawke was a gentleman, but Hawke was staring at him in confusion. His expression changed soon, however, into that irresistible grin.

“I see. Good idea, let’s not make a publ-”

“No! I… I’m so sorry! I have to go! I need to leave!”

Anders couldn’t bear to look at Hawke while saying that. He bolted for the door, heart racing not just because of his previous activities, but from panic as well. The dwarven servant at the tried to tell him something, but Anders wasn’t listening. He needed to get back to the Darktown tunnels before the enchantment wore off.

 

♥

 

Hawke couldn’t believe his bloody luck. He stared after the fleeing baron, dumbfounded. It took him about a minute to realize he should probably chase after the man. To get an explanation, if nothing else. Here they had been, having a glorious time, Hawke had very clear and tantalizing visions of the delectable stranger in his bed already, when the baron had bolted. Looking terrified, to boot. Disappointment burned through Hawke’s chest and it wasn’t just the thought of not having sex with the baron that caused it, it was the fact that they had gotten on like Hawke hadn’t gotten on with anyone in his life, yet the man ran. The baron, despite, or maybe even thanks to the frankly ridiculous name, was hilarious. He understood every single stupid and not-so-stupid joke Hawke made and had no trouble matching him on that account. He had seemed careful when the subject of magic had been breached, but mages and their plight was apparently a very important issue for him. Not to mention the man was obviously a mage himself. An apostate hiding in plain sight, just like Hawke. 

Hawke moved, stumbling over various objects and people, as he made his way out of the house. He was fairly certain he’d seen the hem of a green embroidered cloak disappear behind the corner of the street when Carver, being his usual self, chose  _ that _ precise moment to pester Hawke. 

“Carver, for  _ fuck’s  _ sake, not now!” Hawke growled, but Carver wasn’t fazed. 

“Whatever you’re doing, brother dear, I don’t care a fig, it’ll have to wait ten minutes. Mother sent me for more bread. She ran out of the one she had.”

Hawke looked over his brother’s shoulder impatiently.

“Can’t you ask Orana? Or Bodahn? I really need to-”

“This is Orana’s weekly day off, if you remember, and Bodahn was, apparently, told not to go to the kitchen tonight, to enjoy the company, so he doesn’t know where the bread is,” Carver said, glaring daggers at him and pushing Hawke back into the house. “I’m serious, whatever got into your head now, it can wait. This party was your idea in the first place, so make yourself bloody useful!”

Hawke was close to tearing his hair out in frustration. He thought that maybe he should just ignore Carver and simply chase after the baron, but over his brother’s shoulder he saw their mother making discreet yet obvious gestures in their direction. Hawke gave up, knowing he’d have about as much luck finding the baron now as he would have in ten minute’s time. Not to mention his mother would never let him hear the end of it. 

“Fine! Andraste’s holy knickers Craver, you’re old enough to find a loaf of bread by yourself! It’s not like we changed the location of the kitchen since you joined the Wardens!” Hawke muttered to his brother.

“I helped mother prepare this whole gathering while you were gone in the afternoon slaughtering innocents, or whatever it is you do these days. If I have to play servant at your party, you definitely have to, too. Not to mention, your guard dog is in a particularly bad mood today, I’m  _ not _ going in that kitchen alone!”

Hawke blinked in confusion, pointing at his Mabari charger as they passed him in his usual dozing spot.

“What the blazes are you talking about Carver? Barkspawn’s right here! Since when are you afraid of him?”

Carver rolled his eyes and clarified, as they stepped into the kitchen “I meant him.”

Fenris was sprawled by the kitchen table, a bottle of tevene red in his hand, two empty ones rolling by his chair. He had a plate of food in front of him, but it was only half-eaten. He seemed to be broodier than usual and growled when he saw them staring at him.

Guard dog, Carver had said. Hawke promptly smacked his brother upside the head.

“Wha-”

“That’s for the stupid comment. I thought the Wardens would have taught you  _ some _ manners.” Hawke went around to the cupboard where they kept the bread and was greeted with a tidal wave of baked goods. His mother really had come prepared for the party. Considering how good her garlic and cheese spreads were, Hawke had no doubt she had calculated her needs very well. He gathered as much as he could into his arms and dropped the loaves into Carver’s hands, who wasn’t quite ready for it and stumbled backwards few steps.

“Mother has all the knives and other necessities? We don’t need to cut the bread for her?” Hawke asked.

“Yes. No.” Carver wheezed out under the pile of bread.

“Good,” Hawke said, took a loaf in each hand and lead the way to his mother’s side. She thanked them each and gave them a kiss on the cheek. Carver glared some more at Hawke, but Hawke thought he rather deserved the heavy loaf-load, for rudely stopping Hawke and for the stupid comment about Fenris.

As he remembered Fenris, Hawke had a brilliant idea. He ran back to the kitchen.

“Fenris!”

The elf turned a sour face to him.

“ _ What _ , Hawke?”

“I need your help! You’re the only one who can help me!”

Fenris seemed disinterested. “What new hare-brained scheme has gotten into your head now?”

Hawke looked hurt. “Fenris, my schemes are NEVER...well...almost never...well...all right sometimes they lack a bit of strategy- but that’s not the point. I met a perfect man tonight. But he ran away-”

Fenris snorted at this. “What, did you start talking about freeing the mages in front of him? Clever man,” he muttered, raising the bottle to his lips.

Hawke huffed. “No. I was just about to take him up to the bedroom, in fact, when-”

Too late Hawke remembered he and Fenris had a history. He had drunk a considerable amount of alcohol himself, after all, and his judgement, which some might call dubious in his best form, was rather lacking. Still. It had been Fenris who walked away. Hawke understood why and didn’t want to pressure him into anything, but he had sworn no oaths. Not to mention it  _ had _ hurt. He rather thought he was owed some understanding, too. And besides, Fenris was still Hawke’s friend. 

Hawke realized he’d been silent for a while. “Right. Er. Well. We were just getting to the best when he suddenly looked like he’d seen an abomination and just ran for it. No explanation, no goodbye. I just want to know he’s all right. And perhaps to know what scared him away. Please Fenris, I can’t manage Kirkwall at night alone. You’re the best chance I have. Also you owe me for getting rid of those corpses from your mansion the other week.”

Fenris seemed as uncomfortable as Hawke was. The awkwardness never seemed to be too far from them whenever they stayed alone together for too long. But, thank the Maker, he sighed, like all the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders, and he got up.

“Fine! As you wish. Maker knows you’d probably trip over your own staff and impale yourself on it if you went anywhere alone.”

Hawke grinned.

“Let us go then. Got your sword? Excellent!”

 

***

They didn’t get very far before their first clue presented itself. They saw Merrill, her armour suspiciously clean after their afternoon raid and...were those... _ sparkles? _ She also had an odd white thing on her head. She was trying to reign in two enormous horses, quite unsuccessfully. 

“I should stop drinking,” Fenris muttered beside Hawke.

“No, I see it too,” Hawke said.

Fenris glanced at him. “Maybe you should stop drinking, too.”

“Oh, Hawke, Fenris, how lovely that you’re here, please help me? I’ve been trying to calm them down for hours but they keep getting worse. No, Isabela, please don’t do that!”

The slightly smaller horse was biting at the larger one, who was in turn kicking at it. They were truly magnificent horses, one a well-bred war charger, the other a free spirited black menace.

“Merrill, where did you find these horses? And where are Aveline and Isabela? They were supposed to bring you safely home!”

Merrill waved her hand at the horses “Here, they’re right here! It’s them! Please help me, they’re getting wilder by the minute. I don’t want to use magic on them, don’t know how they’d react to it!”

Fenris snorted. “Clearly the witch has gone mad. You’ve been drinking Lowtown’s water without boiling it first again, haven’t you?”

Hawke huffed. But he had to admit it truly was strange. 

“Merrill, the last time I checked, neither Isabela nor Aveline were, well, horses.”

Merrill groaned and let go of the reins. “I know! Oh it’s all that cat’s fault. He turned them into- oh creators, no! Girls! Come back! Look what you’ve done now!” The horses had used Merrill’s distraction to run away, each in a different direction. Merrill rounded on Hawke, a tiny ball of concentrated despair and frustration. Hawke finally made out the white thing on her, a wig. Merrill also had a mole below her eye that had never been there before. He faltered and backed away as it slowly disappeared from her face.

“I’m sorry Merrill. I...We’ll find them.”

Merrill huffed. “And how do you suppose we’ll do that? This city’s enormous! And so confusing!”

Hawke knew he had no time to lose if he wanted to catch the baron, but he wanted to help Merrill. Then a brilliant idea hit him. 

“Fenris, please, go and fetch my brother. Tell him Merrill needs his help.”

“Why don’t you go yourself?” Fenris grouched. 

“You know my brother would never believe me. Not after that one time when-”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’re right. Fine,” he bit off and stomped back to the house.

“You know Carver knows this town like the back of his hand. He’ll help you look for them!”

Merrill turned to him, a bit more miffed than before.

“And why won’t  _ you _ help? You made me lose hold of them!”

“I need to find a man who was at the party with me. We… you know. We’ve gotten friendly. As in I was about to take him to my bed.”

Merrill formed a silent “oh”. 

“But he ran away. No reason, no explanation, one moment we were quite busy making out, the next he pushes me away and looks like he’s seen a revenant naked, and just  _ runs for it.  _ He was an amazing conversationalist. Also probably an apostate in disguise. Did you see him by any chance? He had a green robe on, and a mask, and, well, a  _ lot _ of feathers”

Merrill perked up a little. “Oh, him! Yes. He ran past us on his way back to Lowtown, that way. Why?”

Hawke looked the way she was pointing and saw a trail of glistening black feathers. He hugged Merrill. 

Fenris returned with Carver in tow fairly quickly. 

“Merrill! What do you need me?  _ To do! _ What should I do? How can I help? You?”

Carver turning into a blumbering idiot around Merrill never got old, but Hawke had places to be and barons to catch and snog. He pointed out the feather trail to Fenris and off they went, with a surprisingly small amount of grumbling.

 

The trail was not very thick, but clearly recognizable, so Hawke and Fenris could easily run along it. It made its way along Hightown in a rather straightforward way to the nearest Lowtown entrance. Oddly enough they didn’t meet a single group of mercenaries or bandits. No one attacked them, which was downright suspicious. No attacks in Kirkwall at night, that was absolutely unheard of. They did, however, find one of Merrill’s horses near the Blooming Rose. Hawke and Fenris staggered to a halt. It was the wild black one, with the shiny coat and the mean kick.

“Do you think we should try and bring it back to Merrill?” Hawke asked.

Fenris didn’t answer him for a while. When Hawke looked at him, Fenris was squinting at the horse.

“What exactly is it...Is that horse drinking from that barrel?” Fenris asked incredulously

When Hawke looked again, he saw that the horse had, indeed been drinking from a barrel, and not standing calmly as he had thought.

He went nearer and was hit by the stench of low-quality whiskey. The horse was happily gulping it down like it was clean spring water.

“I really should stop drinking,” Fenris muttered, rubbing his eyes.

“I think the horse won’t be moving from here. I hope. Let’s go on.”

And on they went.

In Lowtown the trail got slightly thinner and a little more confused. In several places it looped back and continued in a different way. The baron must have been searching for something, and the further they got, a suspicion wormed its way into Hawke’s head. He hoped he was wrong.

Still no one attacked them, which made Hawke even more nervous. Hightown he could understand, maybe no one had any contracts there (as unlikely as it sounded), but Lowtown? No attacks? Something was wrong.

Soon enough they met Merrill’s second horse, the war-charger. And here at last were the bandits Hawke had missed so sorely. They had surrounded the horse and what looked like a member of the city guard. Obviously they thought them easy prey and the horse a good source of coin.

Hawke didn’t even need to tell Fenris anything, at once they charged in to help the warhorse and the guard, but quickly stopped in their tracks. 

What had at first looked to be a horse surrounded by a group of bandits turned out to be, in fact, a group of bandits surrounded by a warhorse. The horse kicked up a storm, stomped a few unfortunate fellows to the ground, and bit at the others. Most of the bandits were cowering, with a few remaining brave souls who tried to subdue the hellbeast.

When they saw Hawke and Fenris charging in, some cried out for help, some called out a warning. The guard in the middle turned out to be none other than Donnic Vallen, Aveline’s new husband, standing in utter confusion and looking on at the scene unfolding around him. 

As Hawke stopped staring at the horse and looked around him, he saw that Donnic was not, in fact, the only guard present, and that a few guards were lying around, dead or wounded, telling of an armed skirmish, most probably with the present gang of bandits.

Donnic noticed Hawke at last and attempted to say something, but his bewilderment seemed to have robbed him of words. He just raised his arms, pointed at the horse, all the while opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

Hawke nodded. Words would be a waste here.

“You know…,” Fenris began, cocking his head to the side, “that horse  _ does  _ bear some resemblance to Aveline. If you squint a little. Maybe the witch wasn’t hallucinating?”

Hawke shrugged helplessly. Whatever the case, he needed to go back to following the trail.

As he did, Hawke’s fear was confirmed - the baron had gone down into Darktown. 

Putting aside their apprehension, they kept following. Here finally started the usual and natural routine of occasionally fending off gang attacks. Hawke welcomed the opportunity to work his nervousness out of his system. He twirled his staff without channeling magic, using it as a javelin. He didn’t need to set anything on fire yet, physical violence was enough here.

Full of adrenaline, they soon reached a tunnel that seemed out of place. The walls too smooth, too  _ clean _ for Darktown’s usual standards. Fenris’ markings began to glow, and he bared his teeth.

“This tunnel is magic. It shouldn’t be here.” 

But the feather trail, now down to a trickle of feathers, led through it.

Hawke looked down at the trail and to his horror saw a feather blinking out of existence. He turned to Fenris.

“Thank you. I would not have managed without you. If you wish, you can go back now. I must find him, I must continue.”

Fenris growled, turning an extremely annoyed look at Hawke.

“And let you walk into some sort of magical trap designed for horny idiots like you? Are you mad?” And without waiting for an answer he plunged into the tunnel.

Despite Fenris’ (and frankly, Hawke’s as well) fears, nothing attacked them. No trap sprung around their feet, the tunnel didn’t collapse on their heads, only the feathers kept blinking out of existence.

They emerged inside a corridor that looked all too familiar. Doors lined both walls. Hawke recognized one to be Knight Commander Meredith’s office, another Grand Enchanter Orsino’s. Thankfully there was no one standing guard here, Hawke thought it would be exceptionally suspicious if the Champion of Kirkwall and his companion were caught sneaking into the Circle in the wee hours of the morning.

Hawke cast a masking barrier on them quickly. As he looked around, he saw the feathers were no longer there, so he had no idea where to go.

Out seemed like a good choice, so they picked their way out into the courtyard. Some templars did indeed stand guard here. Hawke bit his lip to refrain from cursing. Fenris did it for him, very quietly, in what Hawke assumed was very colourful tevene. 

“I hope that not-quite-shag really is worth this Hawke,” he whispered.

Hawke shrugged softly. He cast another silent masking barrier around them and on they went. Thankfully the templars didn’t notice them, but they did go to investigate the noises they heard by the Knight Commander’s office. Fenris was sweating, Hawke suspected from the strain of suppressing the glow of his lyrium markings. He didn’t realize Fenris could do that, but he was grateful for it. And he was also certain he’d get an earful from a certain grumpy elf later.

They passed silently into what Hawke was fairly certain were the living quarters. Bethany had showed them when they’d visited her once.

Just as he thought he should come visit her again soon, Hawke walked head-first into Bethany, crouched low and making odd hissing noises.

She veered back and reached for a staff, only to realise she had none. Hawke released the masking barrier quickly.

“Garrett!” Bethany half-whispered

“Bethany!”

“What are you doing here?” they asked simultaneously. Bethany and Hawke both laughed and hugged each other.

“No, really, what are you doing here?” Bethany asked, worry in her tone.

Hawke released her, scratching sheepishly at his neck. He told her the story of the baron and how the feather trail had lead them to the circle. Fenris interrupted him a few times to inform him that every time he told the story, it sounded that much more ridiculous.

“At first I thought he must be an apostate like me, but considering where the feather trail led me, I must have thought wrong. Do you know anyone like that?”

Bethany thought for a moment.

“No, sorry, nothing comes to mind. But I have a good friend who’s been here longer than me, he knows everyone in the Circle, I’m sure he could help you! I have to see him about a cat in any case.” 

She grabbed Hawke’s hand and dragged him along. As they ran, Hawke glimpsed a feather here and there. Bethany finally led them to a door. She scratched at it with her fingernails, hissing out a name. “Anders! Psssst, Anders!”

The door opened to reveal a frantic-looking man in an undershirt. Even with his mind on his missing baron, Hawke permitted himself an ogle, noticing Fenris did the same before he realized he was ogling  _ a mage _ . The mage in question was fairly handsome, even though he looked shell-shocked at the sight of strangers at his door. Bethany nudged him aside and ushered them all inside the tiny room. 

They barely fit in, Bethany ended up sitting on the single bed in the room, dragging her friend to sit next to her, while Hawke and Fenris tried to stand next to each other by the opposite wall, a feat complicated by the size of their weapons. Hawke’s staff even got tangled in a bundle of clothing and bedsheets shoved into the corner of the room. Grumbling, he attempted to free his staff and as he was trying to shake off a pillowcase several familiar looking feathers fell out of it. 

Hawke slowly looked up.

The mage sitting next to Bethany looked positively constipated now. Bethany noticed and started to worry. “Are you alright, Anders? Is it because of the cat? I did see it wandering the halls, but it disappeared somewhere after I started following. And then my brother appeared, looking for some runaway man. Brother, this is Anders, the friend I told you about. Anders, this is my brother Garret Hawke and this is Fenris.”

Hawke grinned. “Anders? Well that’s definitely a better name than Ser Dance-a-lot.”

Anders flushed beet red and swallowed.

Bethany glanced between them and frowned. “Would one of you care to explain?”

Hawke grabbed the pillowcase and pulled out the dark green robe with feathery shoulders, though most of the feathers were already gone. 

“It seems I found the man I was looking for, Bethany. Though he called himself Ser Dance-a-lot when we met at my party,” he said, still grinning.

Bethany levelled an unimpressed stare at a squirming Anders. “Ser Dance-a-lot? Really, Anders? Really?”

“What? It’s not that bad,” he tried to defend himself but before he could say anything further a loud meow caught his attention. A cat, its coat  _ sparkling  _ of all things, suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, purring triumphantly.

“My mission here is almost complete,” the cat exclaimed loudly. Hawke tensed, but noticed neither Anders nor Bethany looked worried, rather the opposite. Bethany’s “There’s the kitty!” was interrupted by a low growl from Fenris. His markings lit up and, snarling about demons and abominations, he tried to attack the cat. However, due to the close quarters of the room, the only thing Fenris managed to do was bash Hawke with the hilt of his sword while attempting to draw it off his back. The cat trotted towards them unperturbed, climbed up on Hawke’s shoulder, then looked down directly into Fenris’ eyes.

“You really should stop drinking,” it said calmly, “You’re starting to hallucinate about talking cats.”

Fenris hesitated, unsure.

Anders quickly piped up. “Yes, your alcoholism is affecting your senses, it’s really bad when cats start talking to you, you know?”

Fenris just growled “Shut up, mage,” while staring suspiciously at the cat. It meowed at him innocently.

Fenris closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “I really need to start drinking better wine.”

“You know that’s not how it works, Fenris!” Hawke started, but the cat shushed him.

“Just calm down and try to control yourself till you’re a bit more sober and the hallucinations stop,” he said to Fenris.

Fenris opened his mouth, closed it, then sagged a bit and rubbed his eyes with one hand, grumbling “Fine!”

The cat nodded in satisfaction. “Now to more important matters. Hawke, Anders, I observed your interaction at the party. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you, Hawke, would love to enter into a serious relationship with Anders and, ideally, free him from the Circle?”

Hawke shrugged, “Well, if you put it that way… listen, are you certain you’re not a demon? There is a bit of a fade-stink about you you know.”

“I am not a demon. Also that is not relevant. Anders longs for freedom from the Circle. If you get him out of here, I can cast a spell on him so no templar would ever recognize him. Then his wish would be fulfilled,” continued the cat, not blinking.

Anders gasped. “But, Ser Pounce-a-lot, you said you can’t-”

Bethany turned on Anders as Hawke snorted.

“Ser  _ Pounce-a-lot? _ Maker’s breath Anders, have you  _ no _ sense for naming?”

The cat meowed indignantly. “Pounce-a-lot IS my name!” he said, his ears laying down on his head. Anders picked the cat up and cooed at him “shh, it’s alright, they don’t know anything about names, silly humans.” Hawke and Bethany shared an incredulous stare, while Fenris ostensibly ignored them all, grumbling to himself.

Hawke decided to return the  _ ridiculously _ named cat back on topic.

“It’s a very good offer, cat...creature, but I have one...no, two conditions.”

“Name them.” Pounce-a-lot said impatiently.

“You cast the same spell on Bethany, I’m not leaving my sister here. And we destroy their phylacteries, without a trace leading to anything. Just make them disappear.” Hawke said.

“That is not part of my mission!” hissed Pounce-a-lot. Seeing Hawke’s stubborn expression, he hesitated, before he conceded. “Very well. She was, after all, also kind to me. I shall cast the spell both on Anders  _ and  _ your sister. And as for the phylacteries...” the cat looked at Anders intently. Anders and Bethany both started explaining what they were, but the cat just twitched his whiskers and jumped out of Anders’ arms and into the wall. Anders tried to follow, but he found no tunnel had opened after the cat this time. Hawke was worried the cat had just ran off, decided this mess wasn’t worth all the fish in the world. 

To his surprise, the cat returned within minutes, two small flasks in his teeth. True to his name, he pounced out of the wall and onto Anders’ shoulders, dropping the flasks into Bethany’s hands.

“These are the phylacteries in question,” Pounce-a-lot said with a self-satisfied air. “You can keep them or destroy them, but destroy them away from this island, so the guardians don’t find out. These mages will be free.”

Hawke could hardly believe this was happening. He was not only getting his baby sister back, but he was also going to  _ actually  _ free the hot mage from the Circle and possibly have another go at him. He whooped and rushed to Anders and Bethany, picking them both up in a bear hug and trying to spin them, hitting Fenris in the process. The cat, quick to react, jumped out of the way.

 

♥

 

While Hawke, Bethany and Anders were busy rejoicing in the mages’ newfound freedom, Pounce-a-lot made his way to the elf.

Fenris just growled and tried to flatten himself closer to the opposite wall, watching it all with annoyance and mistrust. He flinched when Pounce-a-lot jumped on his shoulder, holding two sheets of paper in his mouth.

“What!” Fenris snarled, still mistrustful of the creature.

The cat shook his head impatiently, so Fenris hesitantly took the papers and unfolded them. He was greeted by the sight of two very inappropriate (and very exciting) paintings of scantily-clad men. He was shocked to find the men were, in fact, Hawke and Anders. Fenris felt his face heating and his blood rushing in his ears. He refused to acknowledge  _ where  _ it was rushing to.

Fenris growled at the cat on his shoulder. “Are you mocking me, demon?”

Pounce-a-lot scoffed. “Have this as a consolation prize. I see you desire to be close to them and if you work on yourself, you might get there. Now I require payment in fishes.”

Fenris made a disgusted noise, but carefully folded the paintings and stored them in his belt pouch. “You’ll have your fish, damned abomination of a cat.”

“I am not an abomination, I am a fairy cat!” stated Pounce-a-lot indignantly. “And for more fishes I’ll give you pointers.”

Fenris grunted. 

“Fine.”

  
  


_ And so the magical fairy cat Pounce-a-lot cast his spell on Bethany and Anders, allowing Hawke to safely smuggle them out of the Circle. At first it seemed the spell did not work, for Bethany and Anders looked the same to Hawke and Fenris, but the Templars knew them not when they saw them. Hawke brought his two precious mages to live with him in his mansion, but soon Anders, dissatisfied with the knowledge that he was free while his magical brethren suffered still in the Circle, begged Pounce-a-lot the cat to help him with the others, too. Gradually, they smuggled out all the mages from the Kirkwall circle, driving Knight-Commander Meredith mad with frustration. Her insanity led her to such horrendous deeds against her Templars and against Chantry clerics that the Chantry’s Grand Cleric demoted her to the lowest rank, fearing what she might do with too much power in her hands. For good measure, she was also sent to the smallest chantry building the Grand Cleric could think of, far away in the cold, harsh Anderfels. _

_ Hawke and Anders lived together in a harmonious relationship. Anders fared very well in the Hawkes’ lively mansion and love grew between them with every passing day. _

_ Isabela and Aveline woke on the next day, one with terrible headaches, the other with an odd feeling of satisfaction. Neither remembered the previous night, though both had an odd feeling of a...horse-ish nature. _

_ Fenris seemed to learn his lesson and stopped his excessive drinking. To his friends’ bewilderment, he also started purchasing strange food. Once he bought a whole large fish, only to throw it all away on the next day…  And then he would occasionally buy very-high-quality elfroot. The magical fairy cat Pounce-a-lot kept his end of their bargain and gave him hints and tips for how to win the hearts of two certain apostates. And whether he succeeded, well, that is a story for another time. _

  
  


_ The End _

**Author's Note:**

> I will edit this work to include links to the other authors' accounts, when they provide them.


End file.
